


Make a Mess

by PickleandtheQueen



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alien Biology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 10:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12505292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickleandtheQueen/pseuds/PickleandtheQueen
Summary: For Slugmanslime, who requested "angst with a happy ending" - hopefully, I delivered in that aspect :)Their relationship was never traditional. Why would taking the next step be any different?





	Make a Mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slugmanslime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugmanslime/gifts).



“Make room! Make room, we’ve got to put him somewhere!” 

“What are you - put _who_ where? _Listen to me!_ ” She elbowed muscular bodies this way and that as the sweaty, bloody crowd pushed themselves into her kitchen. Her table screeched as it skated across the floor, carving strips out of the linoleum. “Watch it!”

“No time for that now, get the medical kit, he’s in rough shape, he is.”

“ _Who_ is?” She struggled to push through the crowd of Earth’s Defenders, searching for those she held dear. Just where were they? Where were her boys? The invading crowd in her kitchen was full of familiar faces, but not the ones she needed to see. _What was going on?_

“Mother!” She was swept off of her feet and lifted into the air in a crushing embrace, her heart swelling at the sound of her eldest son’s voice. He buried his face in her shoulder and she felt tears spill over her eyes. “Mother, we need the medical kit, we didn't have a choice. Dende’s on his way but we need him stabilized in the meantime.”

“Who?!” Chichi cried once again, and once again she was left without an answer as Gohan swept off to find the medical supplies. Her knees felt weak, her thighs jelly. “Someone tell me what’s goin’ on!”

She had heard the explosions, had knelt and prayed to whatever gods would listen for the safe return of her loved ones. It was rare that danger was so close to her home. Usually she was stuck glued to the television, the radio, biting through blankets, breaking wooden spoons, shattering glass as she screamed and cried and raved, helpless, as her family risked their lives to protect her, their friends, and everyone living on Earth. 

On inefficient legs and with shaking arms she barreled through the wall of defenders, her heart feeling cold in her chest as she noticed the absence of one face. 

Goten, tears in his eyes, pushed through to her, shaking his head.

“You don't want to see, Mom,” he whispered, voice choked. The boy was too young to be seeing any of this, even if he already had seen it all before, and was older now than Gohan had been saving the world from Cell. 

“Y’all’re burstin’ inta _my_ house, tellin’ me what to do and where not t’look but no’ne’ll tell me where my -” 

She somehow managed to push by her sons, scramble over Krillin, elbow aside Vegeta, all to slip in the pooling blue blood all over her floor. Chichi landed on her knees, the gore seeping through her dress. “ _Piccolo_ ,” she gasped, involuntarily sliding closer to him, coating her clothes with his blood. 

His breathing was ragged, shallow, torn face twisted in agony. She fumbled for his hand - one of them, either of them, but for whatever reason, she had trouble finding something to hold. “Piccolo,” she tried again, settling on kneeling over him, stroking his face. She couldn’t make herself look lower than his face. She had no need. She could feel it in her chest, smell it. Hear it. “Hey, you look at me, ya hear?” 

Piccolo’s left eye, the closer to her, cracked open as much as it could, swollen shut and crusted with blood as it was. 

“‘M getting your floors covered with blood...It’ll stain.”

“Don’t you worry about that now,” she whispered, “you’ll just have to help me scrub it out.” Her thumbs gently wiped gore from his cheeks, searching for the emerald skin out from underneath. “Or help me replace it. It’s okay.” 

He tried to lift his head to look at his ruined torso, but she shook her head and eased his gaze back to her tear-streaked face. “Don’t you look at somethin’ so unpleasant.” Not now. 

Dimly, she was aware of Gohan and Krillin behind her, trying to staunch the bleeding. Gohan said something about someone going to fetch Dende. 

“He can’t fly as quickly as any of us.” 

Where was her late husband when he was needed? That wasn’t fair, she chided herself. Why hadn’t anyone bothered to try learning the technique from him? But now was not the time for that line of thinking… 

“You always manage to make a mess o’ things,” she whispered, patting his cheek, “you always do a right good job of cleanin’ up though.” 

His lip twitched in a weak attempt at a smile. His color was more autumn leaves than emerald, his usually bright eyes dull. “Hey, hey you keep lookin’ at me, okay?” 

He nodded, even as his eyes threatened to roll back into his head. Her heart seized. “Hey! Hey, you've gotta stay with me, I can't be _three times_ a widow!” 

Piccolo's left eye swiveled to focus on her, antennae perking for a moment.

“We aren't married."  

Chichi wiped a line of dirt and muck and blood from his skin, smiling gently even as tears blurred her vision. 

“Well, maybe that’s just my way of askin’, y’great green galumpagus.” He laughed; it was short and pained, but he met her gaze, and tried a smile. His fangs were stained purple. It would brush out, she knew. She hoped. Where the hell was Dende? Krillin had left to get him...it had to have been more than enough time to bring him back? 

“Sure picked a helluva time to propose.” 

“Can’t wait around for you t’do it. I’d be an old crone.” His laugh came out as more of a cough than anything else. But she smiled at him through her tears, even as droplets fell on his face. He couldn't die. He just couldn't.

His ears twitched as the door opened, and she looked up, however briefly, relief washing over her as Krillin and a very flushed Dende stumbled into the house. The Guardian’s eyes widened at the scene. Like Chichi, he never could acclimate to pain and suffering. He threw his staff to the side and he knelt across from her. Some of the relief she felt drained at the look on the Guardian’s face.

Piccolo’s face contorted in pain as Dende set to work, and Chichi shushed him gently, returning her eyes to his face. She cupped his ears, massaging them, remembering how much he enjoyed it. It seemed to help. 

The crowd around them seemed to draw closer, and Chichi found it hard to breathe. Dende was sweating; even if his eyes were on the mess of a torso before him, his focus was split. 

Covering Piccolo’s ears, she looked up, screwing up her face in the most threatening expression she could muster. 

“ _Couldja give us some gods-be-damned air here?_ We don't need an audience! _Shoo_ , Vegeta, Tenshinhan, Trunks! You three, out! Go clean somethin’ or go tell yer fam’lies you’ve made it through this debacle!” Her gaze rounded on Krillin, Eighteen, Gohan, and Goten, “as fer you four, make yerselves useful. Goten, get Dende some water. Krillin -” she didn't quite feel brave enough to attempt to boss around the imposing cyborg - “I don't know what t’tell you but don't crowd. Gohan.” Gohan had a look on his face that she knew meant he was about to cry, and was trying very hard to hold it in. “You sit right here on Dende’s other side and if he or Pic need any energy to make it through this you give it to ‘em.” Taking charge felt normal, natural. Space was cleared, and she felt she could breathe again. 

“Dende, how’re we doing?” Chichi leaned down to plant a kiss on Piccolo’s forehead. His skin felt clammy. He always felt cold. But not like this. 

Dende made a noise of consternation, and she chanced a glance back over her shoulder. Regretting it instantly, she turned back to Piccolo, trying to ignore the expression on Gohan’s face. “Hey, Piccababy, you never said yes or no to my proposal.” 

“Is this _really_ the time?” His words came through gritted fangs, sweat trickled down his brow in a slimy trail, cutting through some of the remaining blood. She tweaked his ear and pressed her lips once more to his forehead. 

“Piccolo,” Dende sounded tired, “I’m going to have to ask you to try and regenerate. I can’t do anything with what’s left here. I know you’re in more pain now, but I had to revitalize the blood supply to still-living tissue and nerves. Gohan, lend him some energy. Chichi, give him some space, please.” 

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Her hand remained firmly on his shoulder, eyes solidly on his face. She hated it when he did this. Chichi squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the wet sounds of the regeneration process.    
It was going to be okay. 

It was going to be okay. That was all that mattered. 

The mess was okay. 

As long as her family came back to her, it didn’t matter if they were missing a few pieces or were a little banged up. As long as they were breathing had a pulse and were happy. It was all that mattered. 

It was all that mattered. 

“Hey,” Chichi opened her eyes, taking the sight of his clean, fully healed torso. Two neat, bright green arms - brighter where the flesh was new - and clear, tired dark eyes greeted her. Warmth washed over her entire being, from her toes to her ears, and she could have collapsed. Had she not already been kneeling, she might have. He was whole. Tired, but whole. 

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she gasped, falling forward and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him to her chest. “You’re not allowed to do that ever again. Ya hear?” 

“Mmhm,” his voice was muffled in her neck, and she felt his arms slip around her waist. “I shall do my best to avoid it in the future. Now, about what you said earlier…”

She pulled back a hair, just to look him in the eye.

“Yes?”

He tilted his head to the side, skin around his eyes crinkling in a soft smile. 

“You were serious, then?”

“I don’t kid about somethin’ as serious as gettin’ hitched.” She pressed her forehead to his. At this distance, there were two of him. But it was just fine. 

“We are engaged, then.”

Chichi sniffed, and kissed his forehead. 

“Well, you just try and be a little more chivalrous. Can’t have my fiance spilling his literal guts all over my floor. That’s just poor form.”

Piccolo snorted.

“Yes,  _ Dear _ ,” he rolled his eyes. She swatted his shoulder good-naturedly, even as he pulled her in for a kiss. 

Their relationship had never been "traditional," so why should their engagement be any different? 


End file.
